


Acting Minister

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Everyone struggles through those first few days.





	1. Chapter 1

“Acting Minister” 

Nothing stays the same. Kingsley remembered a good night’s sleep, although it stood out as a distant memory. Did power really need to reside with those who did not ask for it? If this was the case, for this is what people said, he was in for a load of hurt because he had no idea, absolutely no idea, how to play this game. He placed his arm behind his neck and laid there thinking about a million things in the middle of the night. 

What idiot volunteered to clean up a mess? Housemaids did this. They picked up a mop, wrung it out, dipped it in soapy water, and went to town. Eventually, in like twenty minutes or so, the floor dried, and life got back to normal. An officer, a decorated Auror, had no business standing in political office, and part of him, the part apparently thriving off insomnia, understood this all too well. Hadn't Rufus Scrimgeour tried that? Security, naturally, would occur to an Auror first, and frankly, he really did need to clean house. 

A woman lay beside him in bed. He'd married as a political move, or the papers, especially the tabloids, would read it this way. Never mind that he'd married a white woman, a pretty one with a brain and wealth. Despite the fact that they'd been engaged before the First Wizarding War once upon a time, a long, long time ago, it hardly mattered to the vultures. Rita Skeeter, for one, would lap this story up like a thirsty dog. People lived for a good scandal. 

_Well_ , he though dully, _at least the race issue would be put to bed_. Drowsy and delirious, Kingsley sighed as Patti woke up beside him when he turned on the light on the bedside table. She was a light sleeper and woke up at the slightest sound. Before he rectified his mistake and extinguished the candle, Patti climbed on top of him, barely awake, and they made love. 

Kingsley turned his head, wondering if an Auror standing sentry outside the door heard them. A moan escaped him. When she finished, Patti collapsed on top of him, leaving her dressing gown open, and snuggled next to him. If she'd not left him the first time, the romance in the relationship might’ve died a long time ago. 

"More of this, please," he said, kissing her on the forehead. 

She played with the ring on her finger, rubbing her thumb against the band. They'd been married less than twenty-four hours. This was day one. Whilst the magical community had given Kingsley a mere week to get his head on straight after the Battle of Hogwarts, he floundered round like a fish out of water. 

"They're going eat us alive," said Patti, resting her hand on his bare chest. An ex-Auror turned political strategist, Patti Strauss understood this intricate, never-ending game of chess almost too well. The alarm clock on the bedside table read three fifteen. 

Kingsley took a wide guess, reaching up to take his earring out and setting it on the bedside table. He forgot to take it out before going to bed all the time. "For the marriage?" 

"Oh, Kingsley, so pretty, so innocent," she said playfully, kissing him. Her face went blank. Patti picked up her wand and pointed it at the fireplace; flames erupted there. Even in the summertime, apparently, she enjoyed the comfort of the hearth, although the flames radiated no heat. Shadows danced on the walls. "No. You're at the mercy of the people, and the people have no idea what they're asking for. But they want it.” 

This made no sense to him whatsoever. ”And you do?" 

Kingsley closed his eyes when she hid under the covers and went for another go. He liked how she paired strategy with sex. He simply laid there, trying to solve the world's problems with zero experience. He'd never lived outside of the country, and the sheer weight of the mental to-do list made him cringe. His bride got crafty over their honeymoon, if whatever this was qualified as a honeymoon, but he needed a sounding board to bounce of his ideas. Even between yesterday's meetings, including the first of many funerals, she found time to unwind.

He waited for her. "Patti, if you were Minister for Magic, what would you do first? I don't know." 

Patti climbed out of bed and slipped on one of Kingsley's dressing gowns. She opened the window, letting the cold air in. Known professionally as Patricia Strauss, this woman was magical in the political arena in the wizarding community. She wasn't a fixer, someone who made problems go away, but she lived by the idea that history repeated itself, and it was society's duty to live by this truth. A thinker, this woman probably strategized in her sleep. She'd helped elect President Elliot Whittler to office back in New York before she'd come back home a year ago. 

"What happens when President Whittler steals you away from me?" he asked. 

Patti stopped pacing. "There's something to be said when an English woman runs the American government." 

Kingsley waved his hand, for this didn't surprise him at all. "Have you met yourself? If he'd still been around, you'd make Cornelius Fudge heel. That's if he'd listen to you." 

And Kingsley had a strong inclination that Cornelius Fudge would've drowned in his false safety net. He'd had Delores Umbridge by his side a few years ago, a stupid move by all accounts, and she'd held no candle to Patricia Strauss. A false sense of security was dangerous. Kingsley, who knew nothing about nothing, knew this. He'd been wrong about Sirius Black. Although he'd rectified this mistake, that was on him until Kingsley headed to his grave. 

"I want a baby," she said. 

"You can't have any." Kingsley dismissed this idea automatically. 

She'd heard this from some Healer in the States, before she got a second opinion, and they'd accepted this. Although they had stopped talking after she broke off their six-year engagement to "discover her own person", they'd kept a correspondence through owls. At first, it had been difficult. He kept all of her letters in a wooden box. Even if they wanted to adopt, and Kingsley didn't want to, the world scrutinized them under a microscope. 

"He didn't say it was impossible," she said, repeating the advice she got from one of the Healers. She was in her mid-thirties, and Kingsley was nearing his fortieth birthday. In his opinion, it was damn near impossible. 

"Patricia," he sighed, rolling onto his side because he didn't want to have this conversation. They'd been down this road before. 

"You said you wanted a family." 

"That was ten years ago! Maybe if you would've stuck around," he said, accidentally sidestepping a minefield and deciding to leave it there. His first meeting wasn't until eight. A couple hours of sleep would probably do nothing, but at least he could shut his eyes. He dropped the subject. "Come to bed." 

Patti, apparently, did not. "What changed?" 

_You weren't there_ , thought Kingsley, knowing better than to voice his opinion. He'd travelled to New York after she'd left. It took him a good while because he refused to grovel and make her come home, but he'd seen her pushing a pram on Fifth Avenue. She'd been with a man, a man who Kingsley later found out was simply a reporter. On instinct, Kingsley had pegged this man as her lover, perhaps even her husband, for he'd watched them from a distance and invented this story and walked away. Last year, he learned the truth, kicking himself for making this mistake. He, Kingsley, would've happily had four or five kids with Patti Strauss. That was then. 

"Patti, I don't want children," he said, tired of this conversation. When she frowned, he gave he an honest answer, his mind back on his timetable. He had to meet with the Minister of Muggles today, the Prime Minister, but he also had to attend his friends' funeral. Remus Lupin had been like a little brother to him, and Kingsley had worked alongside Nymphadora Tonks. "I get to bury my brother today and give my condolences to Andromeda Tonks. And then I have to break the news to Lyall Lupin, who is practically my second father. One day Remus's boy is going to come to me. That's my responsibility." 

"I'm escorting you," she said. Two officers always broke the news to the next of kin. Remus wasn't an Auror, and Andromeda, of course, already knew, yet Kingsley decided to extend this to Remus Lupin as a curtesy. 

"You're a political strategist." Kingsley politely pointed out, or so he hoped, that she hadn't been an Auror for over a decade. She'd never taken this duty. When she got back in bed, he decided to test what she knew about this protocol. "What do you do when you arrive at the house?" 

Patti fired back with the right question. "What was her rank?" Remus, obviously, didn't have one. 

"Captain," said Kingsley. 

"When you lay an officer to rest, and she was enlisted," said Patti speaking slowly, the most unsure Kingsley had ever seen her. He'd done this time and time again because sometimes it felt right to even volunteer. Especially if he was friends with the fallen, if he didn't break the news, he attended the funeral. Kingsley nodded, waiting for her to continue. Patti frowned. “You keep your distance, giving just the facts because you don’t want to deviate from the plan. After that, we hand the next of kin of the personal effects, give the usual line about honor, dedication, and service before giving our condolences. Was old was she?" 

"Twenty-six," he said. 

"Damn, that's young. Too young. I really didn't want to know. Hate to break to you babe, but you're not going back to sleep." 

Kingsley rolled over and ignored her. 

Patti got up and went to take a shower, hanging the house robe on the hook on the bathroom door like she'd done this every day for years. They'd been in this house for no more than a few days. Kingsley had signed off on his flat, an expensive place in the heart of London, the moment she'd taken his engagement ring back. A stupid move, given she had left him at the train station the last time he’d popped the question, but he took her on faith. He waited weeks, six weeks, to tie the knot instead of six years. Progress. 

Kingsley closed his eyes and sighed when there was a knock on the door. It was better if he didn't know the hour. Kingsley took a moment to find some casual clothes buried in the cardboard boxes. As Minister of Magic, apparently morning started whenever it damned pleased. First plan? Once the dust settled and things got down to a somewhat sense of normalcy, he was taking his new house back. This place, his new prime real estate heart of London place, would not be an outpost of the Minister's office. A house deserved a shot at being a home. 

“Minister?” a voice called. 

"Yes?" Pulling on a grey undershirt and wrinkled slacks, Kingsley cleared his throat the second time whoever it was knocked. 

Too happy for the first thing in the morning, bright eyed and bushy haired, Penelope Clearwater opened the door. As the newly appointed press secretary, handed the position by someone he didn't even know like most of his new, intimate inner circle, she lived on coffee and the news of the day. Minister. Kingsley needed to get used to hearing that. At the moment, he sat on the edge of his bed and polished his shoes. Penelope, who Kingsley guessed was the second most important woman in his life now, given she doubled as press secretary and chief of staff at the moment, glanced around the bedroom. 

Kingsley, smiled, thinking she ought to get used to it. 

"Morning, Minister," said Penelope, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opening a folder. The girl hit the ground running. She opened the door wider, ushering in a timid looking, young house-elf in a crisp new pillowcase. She ran through the timetable at top speed. Kingsley might've actually caught some of it. 

Patti come out in nothing more than a towel. She screamed, surprised to see they weren’t alone anymore, and grabbed a few of her things in a hurry, although she lingered too long searching for something. Kingsley raised his eyebrows, already surrendering any foreseeable notions of privacy in his life, and snatched a black bra off the floor. Penelope flushed with color. Taking wild guess, Kingsley tossed the bra to Patti, and she caught it before retreating back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she came out dressed in grey slacks and a silk blouse, a white summer coat draped over her arm. 

"Morning, ma'am. Congratulations on the marriage," said Penelope. 

"Thank you," said Patti, stepping into her heels. When Penelope paused, watching her put on light makeup, Patti waved her hand, inviting her to continue. "I am not here, dear, because as the Minister's wife, or the Acting Minister's wife, I am merely ornamental. I'm the pretty girl on his arm or whatever.”

Kingsley enjoyed this joke. 

"Actually," said Penelope awkwardly, interrupting her on a beat, "It's you I'm here to see, Miss Strauss or Mrs. Shacklebolt." 

Kingsley laughed, slipping his earring back in and getting to his feet. Before he went into the bathroom, he pecked Patti on the cheek. "So pretty, so smart." 

"I hate you," she said, slipping on a watch. 

He closed the bathroom door and locked it before she had a prayer of looping him into this mess. Kingsley wrapped things up in a hurry, and threw a tie over his neck. When he stepped back out into the bedroom, the house-elf had already busied itself with making the bed. Yesterday, in between engagements, he was with his wife, not Miss Strauss. A couple of years ago, they'd spent a weekend together in upstate New York in a four-star hotel. He'd needed a break from crafting the fake wild goose chase for Sirius Black, and she'd been his eager and willing distraction. During a long weekend, though he couldn't recall the federal holiday for the life of him, Kingsley remembered they'd made love like it was going out of style. 

Kingsley wanted that Patti back. 

"Pick one," said Patti, businesslike, turning to face Penelope.

Penelope, lost in her prepared spiel, faltered and flipped through her folder. “Ma’am?” 

"It's either Miss Strauss or Mrs. Shacklebolt," said Patti, switching her tone at the drop of a hat. She walked over to Penelope and took the folder, a thing Kingsley felt sure was armed to the teeth. Sounding kinder, Patti fixed Penelope's collar. "I can be one or the other, but I can't be both, because you're going to confuse the hell out of the press. Not to mention the people. Do you want the public thinking the Minister has a thing on the side the day he takes office? And the day after he married, too! Shame. She must be awful in bed because they're cold and distant already. He should've stayed a bachelor." 

Penelope gaped at her, amazed. "You're good." 

"I was you in another life," said Patti, a smile relaxing her face.

It all depended on how they chose to spin the story. Kingsley had learned this from Patti over the years. She'd covered up an affair with a United States senator once and made the problem a little insignificant nothing in the blink of an eye. The press, mainly the papers in circulation, particularly the mainstream ones, force-fed the public whatever they opinions they imagined they thought of themselves, though a lot of them were too stupid, or too busy, or too ignorant to see this trickery for what it truly was. 

Patti draped her leather handbag over her arm and followed Penelope into the sitting room. Come what may today, and Kingsley had no idea what to expect here, Patti would walk out of this thing unscathed. Him? He’d been lucky to remember his name. Patti rested her hand on the doorknob and smiled when she heard Penelope’s choice, missing the important part of that statement. 

“…about the miscarriage, Mrs. Shacklebolt.” 

Patti opened the front door. Flashing cameras and swarming reports greeted them a moment later. The Ministry of Magic car, feet away on the curb, seemed unreachable. Patti, Kingsley guessed, replaying whatever Penelope had just said, spun around to face her. The shock of her face, simply the first impression, might’ve been worth a thousand words. Patti raised her arms, blocking her face as they jostled through the crowd. 

Kingsley grabbed her by the arm steering her towards the car, and he waved to the crowd. They weren’t asking for him. There were cries of “Miss Strauss, Miss Strauss” everywhere. When they reached the car, Patti slid in first, cringing like a child. Kingsley pulled Penelope in after him, for press secretary or not, they’d devour that young woman as their first course. 

“Drive,” Kingsley demanded the driver, reaching over Penelope locking the door. When the reporters or the people, he didn’t know which they were, stopped banging on the passenger windows and demanding a word, he took a breath. “Patricia.” 

Patti, gathering herself, snatched a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ off of the seat. It was just after seven in the morning, so this was hot off the presses. Her face was splayed on the front cover. She thrust it at Penelope. “What the hell is this?” 

“Ma’am, I tried to tell you,” said Penelope weakly. 

Kingsley wanted to tell the poor woman she ought not to stop talking because she’d simply make it worse for herself, yet he couldn't go against his wife. Penelope trudged on when Patti stared her down. They didn’t need to read the paper. Somehow, a story had leaked through the papers that Patricia had had an affair with an American aristocrat, some entrepreneur, and she ended up pregnant. She’d lost the child. 

“He was in the stock market,” said Penelope. As she was Muggle-born, she knew vaguely what this meant. Investors tossed their money around in a lot of pockets. 

“He owned an art gallery, or so they say,” said Kingsley, correcting her as he slipped his hand into his suit jacket. 

When Penelope asked how he could possibility have known this, he took out his wallet and handed her a laminated identification card. According to this thing, and he also had a forged birth certificate to back this up, Kingsley was a thirty-five-year old man from Connecticut with a wife and two children who held partial shares in a nonexistent art gallery. 

“You’ll be wanting to be careful with giving out chances for that interview. I’m your Mr. Jacobs.”  

“Oh, my God.” Penelope looked from Patricia, to Kingsley, and back again. Patti nodded, signaling to the driver to raise the partition, and asked him to take the scenic route. “Seriously?” 

“No, he’s lying to you,” snapped Patti, lying, annoyed with her. “Of course not! He's a leader of the free world, Miss Clearwater, why would he not deny that?” 

“Patti,” said Kingsley calmly. When Patti covered her face in her hands, he gave the abbreviated version of the story. After getting Penelope’s word that she’d forget this as soon as she heard it, he said, “She was engaged to a senator two years ago.” 

“I was never going to marry him,” said Patti. “You had a fake wife, Kingsley, it wasn’t an affair.” 

“Okay, fine. I never saw a ring,” conceded Kingsley fairly, resting his hands in his lap. “The name doesn't matter. We spent the weekend together, which obviously led to other things, and she got pregnant whilst preparing for a campaign, and we lost it at seven months. End of story.” 

“I fell down three flights of stairs in the World Trade Center chasing after Senator Jackson, Speaker of the House,” said Patti, speaking matter-of-factly. “The Minister almost had a child out of wedlock with a woman across the pond. I broke it off with the senator after I got him elected. There's your scoop. Are you happy?” 

When the car stopped outside the visitors’ entrance of the Ministry of Magic, Patti got out of the car first and slammed the car door. Kingsley got out, leaving Penelope alone. Penelope, speaking quickly, promised to handle this first hiccup. Kingsley, still rather amazed whoever had gotten their hands in this story had essentially gotten it right, took her word for it. 

The driver, saluting him, put the car back in drive and the car disappeared, jumping ahead on the crowded street. Before she stepped into the red telephone box, he held her, patting her auburn hair. They said nothing. After a moment, she wiped her eyes, although there was nothing there, and pulled herself together. 

They stepped into the telephone box and Kingsley took their badges out of the shoot. When they stepped into the Atrium, hand-in-hand, Kingsley took a deep breath. He didn't need his chief of staff and his press secretary quitting on him. Luckily, as they headed up to one of the main conference rooms. Penelope, laden with her folders, followed them. He got through the first press conference sweating bullets and allowed Penelope to take over after a short statement. 

“I froze,” he said, stepping off to the side. 

“You were fine,” said Patti, straightening his tie. When that failed, she took the thing off, cast a Color Changing Charm, switching to blue, and put it back on him and added a pin to his lapel. “Cue cards save lives, eh?” 

“Yeah,” said Kingsley, surrendering the prized index cards written in his wife's hand. “You know what I always say. You’re caught in a tight corner? Get Patti Strauss on it.” 

“Or, you know, marry her,” she said, smiling slightly, shaking when he pulled her back onto the stage. They held hands and raised their linked hands together. The photograph opportunity too more than a minute, and Penelope slipped into character. Patti rubbed his shoulders. “Downing Street? Round two.” 

Kingsley nodded, glad he wasn't alone. He needed to clear this up because the press secretary's first mistake ruined everything. "Patti? The leak? It's not Miss Clearwater's fault." 

"I know." Patti continued prepping him for Downing Street. 

 

Later that afternoon, after their meeting on Downing Street and the funeral, Kingsley spent about an hour in the rain cruising for street food with Patti. Neither of they had eaten all day, so they were running on fumes and starving. A world traveler, she liked for the local food market. The fresh stuff came out in the morning, and they’d clearly missed this with their slammed schedule. She kept offering him food as they jumped from station to station in London. 

“Japanese taco,” she said, careful with the paper wrappings, pouring soy sauce into a lettuce wrap. The vendor handed her some cheap wasabi. Kingsley said he'd never had fresh tuna or wasabi, and Patti, grinning offered him an experience. She liked frequenting sushi bars in New York, although he didn't prefer raw fish. “Try this.” 

Kingsley shook his head. 

“One bite.” She got one with imitation crabmeat, too, though she kept her hands on this one. As they left the market, Kingsley tried the one with tuna, merely to please her, and devoured the whole thing. She nodded, satisfied she’d won this argument. “I keep telling you there’s food out there whilst you’re hiding out on your little island.” 

“There are sushi bars here,” he said, frowning at her. 

“That’s not authentic Japanese food,” she said, shaking her head and wiping her mouth with a napkin. Patti took holidays whenever she got the time. With no family and a demanding career, she basically stuck a red pin into a map at random and took off. They split the one with crabmeat, and Kingsley, ignoring Patti’s giggles, went back for another. “It’s good, right? Oooh, you want some gelato?” 

“You’re going to mess up your stomach,” he warned her. As it was the weekend, they were off, and the real work didn’t start until the following Monday. They’d fled into Muggle London, abandoning Penelope, a woman who tailed them like a faithful dog. Patti was a foodie, and he knew this, so there was no telling her no to eat something. They were running low on pocket money. “This isn’t much of a honeymoon.” 

“Are you kidding me? Food. Two of those, please,” asked Patti, handing over the rest of her change to a vendor. The vendor chuckled when she tossed a few food wrappers out of her handbag. Patti clapped her hands like a little girl when the vendor added a drizzle of Nutella to hers. “Is that the real stuff?” 

Kingsley, allergic to hazelnuts and almonds, declined. He’d never had any. “There are different types?” 

“Ah, poor London boy,” sighed Patti, taking a plastic spoon from the vendor and taking a taste. “That’s it. That’s like a drug. Thanks. Yes, Kingsley, there are different versions of absolutely everything. Tomatoes and rice. Spaghetti. Cheese grits. Salads.” 

“Cheese grits? When did you turn American?” 

He looped his arm through hers, enjoying his ice cream. When she looked away, he led her towards the Leaky Cauldron. When she turned back to face him, talking about some senator or official, Kingsley dabbed her nose in the ice cream before tossing it in a nearby bin. Her expression was priceless, for it took a minute to get it. They went right past the pub. 

“Yeah, I want the other Patti back, please and thank you.” 

“Oh, my God.” Patti dropped her cone in the street. It worked out better than he’d expected, really, for she smeared the stuff all over her face. Kingsley, laughing, took out a handkerchief and wiped the mess away. When he led her into Diagon Alley, Kingsley stopped outside the Magical Menagerie. “What’re you doing?” 

“A long time ago, you asked me for something.” He handed over the umbrella and stepped into the shop. Kingsley worked quickly, for the proprietor, recognizing him as the new Minister, ate up time. He tried to for politeness because he’d left his wife outside in the downpour. When he came back, he showed her the black half -kneazle in the pet carrier and the litter box. “This is Grits.” 

He wanted no other grits in his home. 

“This is my wedding present?” asked Patti. 

Patti laughed so hard she wiped away actual tears from her eyes. She didn’t take it out of the pet carrier. It had cost him ten Galleons, so Kingsley walked home broke, too. When they got home, Patti promised to have a private one-on-one with Senator Jackson, who they both guessed leaked the first secret to the papers. 

About an hour later, Patti went off to grab groceries with the house-elf. The place, thanks to the house-elf, looked and smelled better. Tired, Kingsley dumped the half-kneazle in the sitting room; it immediately darted for the space under the coffee table, and then Kingsley passed out on the couch. 

This is was the first day.


	2. Becoming Minister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kingsley learns to start standing on his own two feet.

December arrived before they knew it. If sex went with political strategy, they strategized plenty and often. Of course, Kingsley wasn't a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination; he understood her endgame. He relaxed, letting the cards fall whatever they may. It wasn't the worst idea in the world, the two of them starting a family whilst in office. Within months, life fell into this comfortable routine, and he wondered for the umpteenth time why she hadn't done her soul searching with him. Kingsley fell back onto his pillows and caught his breath. 

"It's like having the first cup of coffee in the morning," he said, wiping sweat off his brow. Patti laughed. "Where were we?" 

"The Death Eater trials, Minister." Patti kissed him passionately. 

"Enough of you. I need to think." 

Although he leaned on his wife a lot for advice, Kingsley put his best foot forward trying to get the hang of this. As the papers read it, she was not the Minister's wife, yet he was the husband of Patricia Strauss. Some days, especially like the headache today promised to be, he didn't fight that label. Last night, an article in the Evening Prophet made him want to crawl into a dark hole and forget his political life. His advisors in the Cabinet told him not to read the papers, half of it being nonsense, but how could he not? 

A Healer had leaked the news. "When do you want to make the announcement?"

Patti said nothing for some time, though Kingsley could tell she'd been hiding it. He had to hand it to her because the handbag trick worked wonders for photo ops. He'd laughed when she hid behind the Director of Communications last week during a briefing. As the Minister's wife, she had no official capacity, but none of them felt brave enough to tell her to step out. 

She planned the garden parties and decorated his office, adding a few touches here and there. This bored her to death, and honestly, it wasted her because she slipped into autopilot. He'd guessed she'd gotten pregnant shortly after they got into office. Really, he wasn't officially the Minister for Magic yet. Kingsley was a placeholder, someone to hold the public's hand after the chaos of the war. 

"You knew?" Patti sighed, relieved when he nodded. They were on the campaign trail, and she'd switched into crisis manager mode subconsciously. Patti did what Patti did best. From the time they laid down to the time whoever woke up them up, the two of them were husband and wife. Kingsley placed his hand on her stomach and felt a quiver there. "You're not angry?" 

"No," Kingsley whispered. And he wasn't. At the rate they were going, he wasn't the least bit surprised because this was bound to happen. As they lay there, he played devil's advocate with himself. He ran against a church mouse, and although they held an election for appearances, this was no real contest. "Pace yourself." 

Patti made a face, saying something about the polls. When Kingsley was about to point out their day hadn't started yet, there was a knock on the door.

"Here we go." Patti cleared her throat and wrapped her hair in a messy bun as she called, "Morning, Penelope." 

Kingsley smiled as Grits jumped onto the bed the moment the bedroom door opened and curled into a ball by Patti's side. He went out like a light. The house-elf, Sully, entered, gave her usual curtsy, and delivered Patti breakfast in bed today on a laden tray. Kingsley went off to get ready for the day before Penelope really hit her stride. It was another Saturday. 

"Minister," said Penelope the second he stepped out out of the bathroom. Kingsley chose plain robes today. 

"Good morning," he said. Penelope lived three streets down in an expensive flat. Some days, he swore she might as well take one of the guest bedrooms here. Patti and Penelope were already in full swing about this and that. Smiling, Kingsley leaned over and helped himself to a green apple, tossing it in the air and catching it. "These, Patti? These gave you away." 

"What?" Patti lost track of whatever she was saying to Penelope. She might not have said anything, but Kingsley watched his household, and Sully kept these in ample supply in the kitchen. Penelope smiled, which Patti noticed, throwing the same question at her in a different tone. "What?" 

"It's ... the two of you are cute. Congratulations." Penelope knew this already, of course, but she followed the word of the papers. Patti snorted, biting into her apple. 

"She knew, too. How could she not? Thanks, Sully." Kingsley thanked the house-elf for his shoes and found his cleaned jewelry on the bedside table. He slipped the wedding band back on. 

"Oh, so I'm fat," said Patti, hearing whatever she wanted to hear. She shared a laugh with Penelope. When Kingsley shook his head, deciding not to give the apple back, she smiled at him.

Kingsley left with Penelope. Normal people had weekends. Kingsley said goodbye to those when he took this responsibility. As he and Patti were both devout Catholics, they usually got left alone on Sundays. When he entered the sitting room, Kingsley acted as though his coffee table disappearing under political propaganda was an everyday thing. He liked that Penelope and Patti were slowly becoming friends. Whenever his legal wife and his work wife agreed (and, no, they were not the same person), he stayed the odd man out. 

"The polls are not the problem," he said, gesturing at the poster designs. "Penelope?" 

"Sir?" Penelope sat down and read through a long roll of parchment. 

"You're liking this race because it's new and exciting. It's not even a race with Francis Fawcett." He waved at the staircase and conjured some coffee with his other hand. "Why is my wife acting like my campaign manager?" 

"She's Patti Strauss," said Penelope, shrugging this off like it was obvious. They had indeed decided on the name of Strauss and not Shacklebolt for his wife because the papers had made this decision for them. And it carried political punch with it. She added sugar to her coffee and helped herself to a scone. "What's wrong, Kingsley?" 

Kingsley froze, momentarily surprised she'd used his first name. He'd insisted on it countless times, but she'd never said it. He picked up another copy of the paper. Mr. Fawcett, or whoever was running his campaign, had decided to play dirty. The Healer's slip of tongue could slide for the moment because this was going to get out anyway. He didn't know how to phrase this. Patti had pointed out that Penelope Clearwater was his work wife. He might as well shoot for plain honesty. 

"I did not marry her to steal this office. The child? That baby is not political capital!" Kingsley rushed to get this out before Patti headed downstairs.   
He hated this. He had not even asked for this. Remus Lupin had planted this idea into his head, and Fred Weasley had thrown it out there as a joke during Potterwatch broadcasts the previous year. A quiet man, he'd enjoyed his life as a bachelor. These papers, the media, made him into this naked man giving speeches in public. It wouldn't be so bad if he lost, would it? If he backed out, if he conceded to Mr. Fawcett, the country would fall flat in its face, but was that really Kingsley's problem at the end of the day? 

He'd run a clean campaign. 

"I am good at being an officer. I can get reenlisted into the Auror Department." Kingsley paused when Penelope snatched the paper from his hand and strode over to toss it in the fire.

"No! Look, I'm sure you're great. I've read your case histories, a few of them," she said, pacing in front of the fire. "But you are an extraordinary man, Kingsley, you're the calm in this fire. I'm sure you could help reform the Auror Department from the inside, and that's all for the good ..." 

"...but you are extraordinary," said Patti, walking downstairs and tying the strap of her long grey cardigan. She wore her hair in a high ponytail. Sully carried the tray into the kitchen; Grits followed at the house-elf's heels. 

"You're off today," said Kingsley, turning to face her. 

Patti grabbed her handbag out of the wardrobe. "Step aside, Kingsley. You think some stupid reporters are going to put me on the sidelines? What? You're going to give out that Patricia Strauss is on bedrest with nine weeks left in the campaign?" 

It hadn't crossed his mind, but now that she'd said it, Kingsley entertained the idea for a fraction of a second. He hadn't done the math until this moment. When he won this thing, he'd been a new father on or around his first day as the official Minister. Patti, furious at him, turned back to head upstairs. 

"Wait," he said. Patti rested her hand on the bannister. 

Kingsley would have to work really hard to mess this thing up, and he didn't want to do that, either. Always rather proud of his work, Kingsley put his best foot forward. He wasn't the only one running for office. And this was not about him as much as it was for the community. 

"I can't do this alone," he said. 

"Nobody does this alone, Kingsley." Patti went back upstairs and came back down with a large plastic container. Shaking his bead, Kingsley grabbed it for her. Chances were, she wasn't going to take another fall, but he erred on the side of caution. She raised her eyebrows, surprised by his overprotective gesture. "I have two hands." 

"Who's this?" Kingsley set this box down and went to fetch the second half. He knew it wasn't him because Kingsley simply wasn't this interesting; he probably filled up a couple cardboard boxes, if that. It might've been his competition, but he doubted that. 

"Senator Noah Jackson," she said, getting comfortable on the couch. 

When she failed to mention her ex-fiancé, or her never was an ex-fiancé was coming over at nine, Kingsley rolled his eyes. An hour later, he answered the door for her and a portly blue-collared man stood there in jeans and a dress shirt. Patti cleared all the campaign merchandise with a casual flick of her wand. They shook hands, though Kingsley had very little to say to the senator. 

"You're married?" Noah sat down beside Patti, smiling at her as they hugged. "Minister's wife is better than senator's wife. Don't fall down this time." 

Kingsley didn't find this funny. 

"Noah, you're in a mess. Why would you sleep with that girl?" asked Patti. 

Never one to waste time with a client, Patti got right down to the point. When Noah denied whatever he did before she got the whole story out, Patti dug through a box, trying to find whatever she needed. Noah grinned, looking her up and down, though this was far from the pot calling the kettle black. Kingsley sat in the armchair, not comfortable with leaving the two of them alone together. 

Patti handed him a little black book. Noah got quite the chuckle out of this. 

"You're a playboy," she said. 

He waved it at her, ruffling through its pages as he went down his lover memory lane. "Are you in this, Patti? I want to make sure you're being thorough, and look, yes, you are." 

"Not the point," said Patti. 

She excused herself to go use the bathroom. Kingsley, severely uncomfortable at this point, wondered if he should invent some excuse about something or another. He'd never actually met Noah Jackson face to face. Noah, a descendant of Josiah Jackson, one of the first leaders in MACUSA, lived a wild life because he carried the right name. As Patti put it, he was a good ol' boy from Massachusetts, and that prized senator's seat had had his name on it. His family had descended from the Salem Witch Trials. He reminded Kingsley of a pig in a wig, really, but this honestly more to do with this man having been a potential suitor for Patti. 

"Mr. Jacobs," said Noah warmly, breaking the awkward silence. When he smiled, Kingsley was painfully reminded of the bump in the road earlier that year. The alias confirmed Kingsley's suspicions about the leak. "She's always gone for power. Patti. She's a fine woman." 

Kingsley nodded curtly. 

"I knew it was you. The way she ended it." Noah flipped through the book. He shrugged and grabbed at the leftover crumpets from breakfast. He started eating, speaking with food in his mouth, which made Kingsley want to look away, but he didn't. He was more concerned with the fact that this fellow was the first American he met. Noah and Patti shared a love of food. "Well, I didn't know it was you, but you're definitely her type, Mr. Shacklebolt. And a war hero!" 

Kingsley said nothing. He'd imagined Senator Jackson as his American counterpart, so to speak, and apparently he'd set the expectations too high. How had Patti gone from this man, a pampered political figure head, to him? Back to him? Kingsley had Patti before and he'd let her get away. 

He did have one question. Guessing Patti had fallen asleep or something, Kingsley decided he might as well talk with him. "Why did you leave her the bottom of the staircase?" 

Noah's face was expressionless; he emptied his voice of emotion and fidgeted with a trinket in his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Oh, but you do," said Kingsley conversationally, calm as ever. Noah's eyes darted towards the staircase.   
Years of interrogating Death Eaters, and petty thieves, and all sorts put him in an interesting position. Kingsley sat back and crossed his legs, acting like he had all the time in the world. He studied the tips of Noah's fingertips and guessed they were black from years of smoking. Nicotine collected there. This man, a glutton, had many vices, and he rotated through them like a Rolodex. 

"Do you mind if I step out for a smoke?" The man wanted an exit. 

"You may when you leave." Kingsley did not drop the subject when Patti came back downstairs. When she asked when they were talking about, Kingsley smiled invitingly at Noah. 

"I had a fundraiser to get to," he said at last, resting the black book is his lap, "and we were arguing for days. What does it matter? It wasn't mine."

"Senator," said Patti, startling Noah as she stopped behind him. 

But he didn't know that at the time. Kingsley drummed his fingers on the armchair, taken aback by this man's candor, because he'd expected to hear any other story. 

"The child was black," pressed Noah, searching for support where there was none. He'd explained he'd gone to the hospital afterwards to check on Patti, and she was all right. Kingsley hid his emotions behind a mask, and Patti, reading the room, declined to take on Mr. Jackson as a client as she escorted him to the door. "But..." 

"Yes, you need... you need to go." Patti closed the door on the senator's face before she slid onto the floor, her face in her hands. 

Kingsley got up a few minutes later after he let this sink in. Patti got to her feet and started tossing handfuls of documentation and research into the fire. The house-elf came by and offered to dispose of it, but Patti merely shook her head and burned all the evidence in the file

Kingsley eventually found his voice. "Did you know?" 

"Did I know? No. Yes. I don't know." Patti, confused, slid one container into the other. When he turned to face her, she placed her hand on her lower back. "It's funny when you tell someone not to lie to you. The truth isn't a nice thing to hear." 

This stood as one of her cardinal rules: her clients never lied to her. If they did, and some of them tried, Patti used her sources and found out one way or another. Kingsley, thinking about his alias, pictured living with her in some small house in Connecticut. He'd never actually been to anywhere else in the United States except for his one failed mission to New York. He probably couldn't point out the state of Connecticut on a map, but he could have given this all up for a quiet life as Mr. Jacobs. 

Patti sat on his lap. He switched to drumming his fingers on her knee, imagining toddler running around the place. If only things had been different. "We would've been happy. Our children would've been American, but that's a small price to pay." 

"Life happens," she said, shrugging it off. She rolled her eyes at the nationally comment, taking this as a jab at her dual citizenship, and entertaining his fantasy. She kissed him. "What about Mr. Jacobs's wife and two children?" 

Kingsley ran his fingers through her soft hair, realizing his invented self could have become a reality. "I should have stayed with you." 

"And done what? Locked me inside a padded cell? You saved a man."' Patti sighed when Kingsley mentioned Sirius Black had been murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. "Yes, but you let him live. I can walk out this door and get hit by a bus and die tomorrow." 

"Patti." Kingsley frowned at her. "Don't say such things." 

"Sorry," she mumbled. Patti had missed the effects of the Second War, but she'd been stationed here as an Auror for the first one. Kingsley saw death at every corner and had attended enough funerals last summer to last him for a lifetime. "It doesn't seem right, does it? That we're happy." 

Kingsley squeezed her hand. "Remus told me that's life." 

Patti, lost again, cocked her head like a dog. 

"When we were kids. His dad made these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I couldn't have one because, you know, I've got this food allergy." 

"No hazelnuts, no almonds. You are missing out on almond milk, my friend." 

"Milk comes from cows, not plants. Anyway, that's not the point. Back to my story." Kingsley pretended to be annoyed at her interruption as a smile spread across his face. "Anyway, this five-year-old scrawny kid hands me a half-eaten chocolate bar and says, 'That's life.'"

"Oh, my God. Remus was adorable." 

"He really was. Remus probably stole that saying from his dad, but a kid nearly half my age shut me up." Kingsley chuckled, safe enough to tell a dead man's tales. "I used to pick Remus up whenever he got in my way at Lyall's place, and I'd set him down. He'd go on his way. Never shut the hell up." 

Kingsley hoped Remus's boy was just like him because he, Kingsley, needed a laugh every once in a while. Patti rested her head on his chest as she stared into the fire. 

 

Time sped up and Election Day approached faster than Kingsley expected. As they waited for the results, he sat up in St. Mungo's with his wife. Although she complained of little pain, Kingsley took her away from the campaign rally. He didn't want to be there because his nerves were fried. When Penelope showed up by Patti's bedside, Kingsley was surprised at her bravery. 

Patti, breathing through the pain, waved her hand at the press secretary. "Oh, for the love of God, girl!" 

Penelope, taking a nervous step back, muttered something about coming back later. When Patti started screaming and almost breaking Kingsley hand with her death grip, he nodded, letting her go. Penelope probably got updated numbers from the polls every fifteen minutes. When the contraction passed, Kingsley grabbed a couple plastic cups and told a nearby matron he needed to step for a moment. 

"Five minutes. Relax. I'll be right outside," he promised Patti. She nodded, laying her head on the pillow. Kingsley went into the corridor and cast a Freezing Charm on both cups, filling them with chipped ice. "How are you holding up?" 

Penelope glanced at the closed door. She really wanted Patti. "Do you want the numbers? I mean, they're not bad, and polls closed a few hours ago, so it's ..."

"Not really." Kingsley checked his watch, hearing his wife again when a maternity matron stepped out into the corridor and continued on her way. "I can take you in to speak with Patti if you'd like." 

Penelope shook head vehemently. "Is she all right?" 

"She's tired. Nearly there. Look, I know you're working really hard on this." Cutting this short, Kingsley glanced at the door apologetically, this damned election the last thing on his mind at the moment. Penelope promised to keep him posted, and he gave her a thumbs-up. After he got the all clear from his work wife, he headed back into the maternity ward. 

Patti demanded news, ignoring the matron coaching her through the pains.

"They're counting votes." Kingsley took his spot back after placing one of the cups on the bedside table. When she answered him with a rude hand gesture, clearly saying this wasn't an adequate answer, he grinned at a nearby Healer and fed Patti ice chips. 

Hours later, around one o'clock the following morning, Patti held the baby to her chest. Kingsley pulled up a chair and sat down for the first time since the previous afternoon. Forgetting the election, Patti had eyes only for the child, a girl. Penelope edged over, grinning from ear to ear, almost skipping with joy, Kingsley snorted, reminded they'd told each other for ages to expect this outcome. Patti had told him the projections and predictions didn't matter, and the election sometimes took an unexpected turn. 

"We have majority!" Penelope shouted the news, and Patti, giggling in spite of herself, shushed her. Penelope lowered her voice, resting her hand on Kingsley's shoulder. "We have the majority of the votes. It's a landslide! He's Minister!" 

"That's nice, dear," said Kingsley wearily, barely able to string words together in coherent sentences. He felt sure the reality this would set in soon. He exchanged a look with Patti, sharing a laugh with her. He handed over a roll of parchment. "You want to give my victory speech, Penelope?" 

Eager to jump at another challenge, Penelope snatched it out of his hand, beaming. She snuck a peek at the baby when Patti shifted.her in her arms. She gushed. "Oh, my God. She's precious."

They thanked her together.

Patti called after Penelope when the young woman started down the ward again. "Penelope?" 

Penelope backtracked, running off her elation. "Ma'am?"

"You kicked ass today. Stand tall." Patti sighed contentedly when Penelope left the ward punching the air. She laid back after handing the baby off to Kingsley. "That girl's a mess." 

"Oh, I don't know," said Kingsley, running his fingers through the sleeping newborn's soft hair, "She kind of reminds me of someone."


	3. Capturing Minister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kingsley spends a day at the hospital.

Kingsley started throwing out the questions whenever he started getting his feet wet. The day after the election, or the evening of, it dawned on him that they were continuing the work they had started and nothing really changed. As acting Minister, although Pius Thicknesse hadn't really even been there, he'd been a wild card. Technically, according to a handful of documents, the puppet Thicknesse had been "unable to hold the position due to mental health reasons". He hadn't been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, which Kingsley thought was lucky given what he did even under Voldemort's control. An acting Minister usually came from the Cabinet. 

"I should probably feel bad about saying this," Kingsley hedged, and a small part of him did, "but would it be awful if we left him in St. Mungo's and just got on with it?" 

"Kingsley," said Patti softly. It was hours after their daughter's birth, and the flood of early morning press conferences had probably ended by now. Patti sighed when the baby latched on and placed a hand on her forehead. "Shit." 

"I was simply throwing it out there," said Kingsley, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender to show he really didn't mean anything by it. 

"No. Not that. Nurse? Matron?" Patti dropped the Americanism like that, switching to proper English. Or what they called "proper English" here. Kingsley noticed it because he often made fun of it when it slipped through her lips, even though nobody else did. Everyone else on the ward slept, and the matron went though her usual rounds. As there were no laboring mothers at the moment, all was quiet. 

"Do you want me to take the baby to the nursery, ma'am?" she offered. 

"No, thank you. She's fine," said Patti. 

Patti detached herself from the fussy baby and handed her off to Kingsley, and the matron, raising her eyebrows, helped Patti to her feet. Patti shrugged into a dressing gown and held out her arms for the baby when Kingsley shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. The matron conjured a baby wrap, a thing over the shoulder, but this didn't work. The fussy baby turned into a problem. Not wanting to wake the others, Kingsley ushered them out of the ward. Penelope, probably knackered from a night of partying after the speeches had died down, was probably at home sleeping it off. As luck would have it, an eager Percy Weasley met them outside the ward. 

"Minister. Ma'am." Percy turned his back towards them immediately, awkwardly shielding his eyes from Patti. Kingsley knew he worked on the campaign and often jostled for position with Penelope. He usually lost. "Congratulations on the baby. What's on the agenda for day one?" 

"On the agenda?" Kingsley took out his wand and conjured a chair and a light blanket. He forced Patti into it, annoyed with the stunts she pulled lately. "Patti, the baby comes before the campaign. She comes first. I can't feed her from my breasts, so it's not me she wants." 

Patti started feeding the baby again, sighing when the baby calmed down a few minutes later. Kingsley learned quickly last night when he changed the newborn's nappy that this was going to be a crash course in parenting. Patti, not missing a beat, covered herself with the blanket and asked Percy to face her. Percy took his time, his ears a deep red. 

"Mr. Weasley," she said. 

"Percy," Kingsley corrected her. Percy wasn't just an aide because Kingsley knew the Weasley family. True, as Percy had been essentially out of the picture until last May, Kingsley didn't know him too well, but Percy was his righthand man for whatever, so they were getting there. 

"Percy. I need you to go to my house, please, and get me a set of dress robes: grey, navy blue and black. I want my three pairs of George Isaacs heels, and my black handbag on the coffee table."' Patti reeled this all off like a recipe. Percy simply gaped at her, lost in the girl speak. Kingsley couldn't help smiling. Patti, cottoning on when Percy stood there, frowned and said, "Not you. I need someone else .... someone else ...where's Audrey from New York City? Is she with you?" 

"Right here, ma'am," said a nearby voice. Audrey's thick hair was tied back in a clip. Audrey had been with Patti for years back in the States and stuck to her like a Permanent Sticking Charm. Kingsley reached into his pocket and tossed her his keys. "I'll grab a few other things, too. Anything else? How long are you staying here?" 

Audrey hadn't been the forerunner in organizing the campaign because politics in the United States were different from here, but she was a force of nature. Kingsley didn't understand the differences in politics because it all went over his head. Audrey, he felt, liked to confuse him. Kingsley asked her to bring the baby things as they were leaving St. Mungo's later that day. He realized too late they had nothing at home for the baby except for a pram and a borrowed bassinet. 

He cursed, making Audrey laugh, and clapped a hand on Patti's shoulder. They'd gotten too wrapped up in the race. "We are not good parents."

"The nursery's painted. It's just empty." Her face fell. Patti cleaned up the baby and fixed her clothes after she offered the baby to Audrey. Audrey asked about nappies and a thermometer. "Yeah, the more you talk, babe, the worse I feel. It goes from bad to worse." 

Audrey held the baby to her chest, rocking her as she paced back and forth. She asked for a name, and both Kingsley and Patti shook their heads. "Do we at least have a surname?" 

Kingsley answered this enthusiastically and raised his hand. Although Percy didn't laugh, the sides of his mouth twitched. "That's mine."

"Baby Shacklebolt. Okay. Get your stuff together, Patti." Audrey, much more familiar with her than Penelope, treated Patti like a cross between a close friend and something of a sister. As she walked away with Percy after handing the sleeping baby off to Kingsley, they heard her say, shaking her head, "The baby ain't got no name." 

"The schedule is slammed with conferences and interviews," said Patti, wrapping herself in the blanket. She threw this out before Kingsley said anything. "And Penelope's probably exhausted..." 

"Six hours and twenty-three minutes," said Kingsley, checking his watch. "That's how old your baby is, the who doesn't have a name, Patti. What are you going to do? Feed her between speaking engagements?"

"I am not choosing the race over her," said Patti, letting this set in. Her mind immediately went to the campaign because she'd done little else over ten years than run elections and erase scandals. Tears swam in her eyes. "I didn't...I didn't forget her, Kingsley." 

"I know that," said Kingsley, kissing her. Once he talked her down, Kingsley went to go chase Audrey and Percy down, the baby wrap feeling like awkward new baggage. He stopped, short of breath, at the lift. He caught them right on time and forced the doors open. They were talking to each other, and Audrey wore a bemused expression when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. "Mr. Shacklebolt, unless you're here to give me the name of that beautiful baby, I don't want to hear it." 

"Rachelle Delta," he said breathlessly, pulling the name out of thin air. 

Well, they'd already agreed on the second name. Audrey muttered what sounded like "Aurors," and he nodded in agreement, reciting off the military phonetic alphabet as he searched for a drawstring pouch. He tossed it in the air, and Audrey, aghast, caught it with a deft hand. "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo ... that sort of thing, you know." 

He shifted his weight in the left, hoping he wasn't going to crush his newborn daughter. That would not be good news to take back to her mother. Audrey, still confused, jerked her head, and Kingsley realized he blocked people actually trying to catch a ride. Embarrassed, he stepped aside. 

"After giving a few interviews, spend my money and decorate the nursery," he said, nodding when she asked him if he was serious. "You've done those before? Press conferences?" 

"How long have I been with Patti Strauss? Good day, Minister," she said, sounding bored, shaking her head as the lift doors clanged shut. 

 

"Yes, that was a stupid question," said Kingsley softly, talking to himself. He headed back towards the maternity ward. Patti wasn't outside anymore because there was an empty chair. He found Patti sitting at the foot of the bed. Spelling the first name out, he gave her the answer for birth certificate. Patti shrugged her shoulders, saying she liked it. "She's pushy. Audrey." 

"She's like me. That's what you really want to say. Uh huh." Checking his expression, although Kingsley had no idea what she gathered there, Patti placed Rachelle in the bassinet beside her. "Well, at least, we can go home now. Isn't she lovely?" 

Kingsley draped a blanket over Rachelle, tucking her in. He mentioned they'd have to steal supplies from the hospital to take her, and Patti mentioned she hoped their stupidity stayed out of the press. They had a poor track record with this thus far. 

Kingsley sat down in his chair, thinking of something to make Patti laugh when she laid down for a nap. "Does she look white to you?" 

A passing Healer snorted as Patti took one of her pillows and threw it at him. She missed. They sat there for a while in silence, and Kingsley inevitably thought about his first game plan in office as she nodded off to sleep. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, Kingsley whipped out his wand and pointed it at the young man's throat. It was Draco Malfoy. 

"You really shouldn't do that." Kingsley lowered his wand. 

Draco backed off, showing him his hands. He probably had no idea the woman sleeping in the bed was also an ex-Auror, though this was indeed a stupid move. Kingsley conjured the chair from the corridor and invited him to sit down. 

"How may I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" Kingsley couldn't pretend he hadn't expected this. 

"I sent an owl to your home, but you've obviously missed it. I thought you were ignoring me." Draco brought his hands together, and his shifty eyes kept darting towards the door. Kingsley realized the young man was frightened of him. Draco waited, probably weighing his options. It was a plea for his father, he guessed, but he didn't want to sound like a begging man. He bit back a response, not even looking at the baby, and gave his congratulations. 

"Thank you," said Kingsley. 

In the middle of the Death Eater trials, Kingsley imagined people would be foolish not to seek him out. He'd already met with Stanley Shunpike's relatives and a few others. Whilst he understood and felt even somewhat sympathetic towards some of these families, he committed himself to this duty. What was to stop another leader poking the embers of a dead or dying fire and reigniting its flames? There wasn't enough manpower or structure in the government to survive another hit. Both sides would lose. 

"Your name is in the Pure-Blood Directory," said Draco. 

It didn't surprise Kingsley that his mind went right there, yet he couldn't blame him either. Kingsley had thought that he'd let the line die out nd extinguish itself. He had initially said that he didn't want children. As he looked at Rachelle, he fell in love, and he couldn't imagine how or why he'd been so against the idea. He'd grown up alone. Whilst he wasn't exactly a lonely child, for he grew up privileged and wanted for nothing, he'd wondered why his name mattered. 

Draco nodded at Patti when she rolled over in her sleep. "Is she a witch?" 

"Yes," said Kingsley, not elaborating. He guessed Draco, like most young people his age, took little interest in politics. However, when Kingsley gave her name, there was a flicker of recognition across Draco's face. The longer he sat there, the more his walls came down. "You know of her?" 

"She gave Scrimgeour's name when he got on the ticket. He ran unopposed, but she helped him get there." Draco smiled when Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "My father keeps his ear to the ground, and I paid attention in History of Magic. Not that she's in it. She's recent but still relevant. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Shacklebolt." 

"No." Kingsley sat up straighter, interested in whatever he had to say. He admitted to himself that he had indeed counted Draco Malfoy out, Harry Potter vouched for him, which kept his name out of the fire, but Lucius Malfoy would answer for his crimes. 

"My father's already served his sentence in prison," Draco reminded him. "Whatever happened at the Department of Mysteries is over and done with. He's answered for his crimes. And he's not a rat." 

"Mr. Malfoy," said Kingsley quietly. 

"And you can't use it against my family because that's like, double jeopardy. I'm not going to be your scapegoat," said Draco, louder and confident. He balled his fist, slamming it on the side of the bassinet and upsetting the baby. Patti stirred, snorted, and rolled over, going back to sleep. "Sorry." 

"Not a problem," said Kingsley, picking up Rachelle and walking up and down the ward with her. 

Draco, apparently not one to back down, followed at his heels. For an eighteen or nineteen-year-old kid, this young man had a lot of courage. Kingsley had left his wand on the bedside table, not that he wanted to attack Draco, but he bet this young man was quite the duelist. Whilst Harry Potter or Ron Weasley would probably never speak highly of him, they had pointed out some interesting qualities. Kingsley sighed when Rachelle got sick on his dress shirt. 

His suit jacket, mercifully spared, hung on the back of his chair. 

Draco wrinkled his nose. 

"I should've seen that coming," said Kingsley, offering the baby to Draco. 

Draco shook his head, stepping away from the baby like it was an activated bomb. Kingsley gave him a reassuring smile and stripped off the shirt when he got back to Patti's bed, revealing a tucked in undershirt. He tossed the dirty dress shirt onto the floor and set the baby in the bassinet for a moment. 

"Draco, if your aunt had survived, and frankly, she's probably better off, there would be no sympathy towards her." Kingsley followed Draco now, falling back in step with him. He went with an honest answer. The trials had little to do with public opinion, although the public certainly had a say, but the Wizengamot decided on the trials. Kingsley almost explained the appeal process to him. It really didn't matter. As he had bothered to track him down at the hospital, and he seemed like a nice kid, Kingsley spared him the details. "Lucius Malfoy is not on the list." 

Draco frowned at him. He said nothing for about five minutes. "And he can't be added later on?" 

"Not for this charge, no," said Kingsley, smiling at him. "You've already pointed out that he can't be charged for the exact same charge twice. You can follow a group and not actively participate in it. I do not know, but I believe that's what your family has done for years. That is not a crime." 

Draco got lost in his own thoughts. Kingsley, showing him he was not being snubbed or dismissed, wanted for a passionate defense. Nothing happened. Kingsley had heard the pureblood lectures from people like his grandmother and his great-aunt. His father, an open-minded man tired of the same old arguments, had told Kingsley to choose his own path. Whatever he followed, he'd better be damned well ready to swallow the consequences. 

"You and I. We are the same." Kingsley moved one of his fingers. Draco glanced the child, though he really didn't see it. Kingsley didn't blame him. He used to show no interest in children, either. A pampered prince, Kingsley had enjoyed almost unlimited freedom when he grew up. He rested his hand on the railing of Patti's hospital bed. "You know my grandmother's first complaint against her?" 

"She's still alive?" Draco asked. 

"Old people don't have to filter the closer they get to their graves, and sometimes that is most unfortunate." Kingsley mused, and Draco grinned from ear to ear. Kingsley reached out to clap his hand on Draco's shoulder, yet he decided not to do it. "Come on. It's obvious." 

"She's white," guessed Draco. 

Kingsley nodded, explaining he'd been engaged to this woman once before. Whilst Kingsley believed in the part about Patti's soul searching, he also felt as though some of the women in his life had driven her away. 

"You have your own mind, Draco. Frank and Alice Longbottom, who live here, cannot use their minds because they are trapped inside them. Make a choice." Kingsley sat beside his wife again and listened to the rain outside. "You know what my father used to tell me?" 

Draco said no. 

"'Blood is thicker than water, Kingsley, but water, the universal solvent, cleans those wounds.'" Kingsley looked at Draco, watching a flicker of something register on his face, or perhaps he'd imagined it. 

"What does your father do for a living?" Draco studied something on the sleeve of his robes. As far as Kingsley could tell, his clothes were immaculate. 

"He's an alchemist, more of a scientist, really. He prefers modern chemistry whenever he delves into his Muggle studies." Kingsley set the baby down again. "He enjoys reciting the periodic table from memory for fun. Elements. Some metals are elements. Do you know what elements are?" 

"Yes, vaguely," said Draco, sounding unsure. 

"Substances that cannot be broken down into simpler substances," said Patti drowsily, barely opening her eyes. 

"You're eavesdropping, darling," said Kingsley. 

"No, you're talking. I'm merely inviting myself into the conversation. And I'm hungry." Patti exchanged introductions with Draco. 

"What do you want?" asked Kingsley, checking his watch. Minutes later, house-elves appeared with covered laden trays and distributed them around to the patients. He thanked the house-elf that stopped by Patti's bedside and took off the warming lid. Guessing they cast Heating Charms on these, he set the lid off to the side and announced the spread. "We've got scrambled eggs, tomatoes, sausages, apple slices, yogurt, and toast. And that's mine." 

He helped himself to the small cup of applesauce. He gagged, placing it back on the tray. "That's bland." 

"Thank you for helping yourself to my food." Patti hadn't eaten in hours. Draco turned to leave, excusing himself, saying he'd come back later. Patti called after him, gesturing to the empty chair with her fork. "What're you doing here?" 

"Nothing," said Draco. 

"Discussing the Death Eater trials," said Kingsley. 

He clung to her honesty rule like a lifesaver. He wasn't really discussing the trials, per se, because there was a lot he couldn't share. Even though his wife may have gotten him into this office, there were things he could not and would not talk about it. He didn't know about her clients, and nor did he openly ask about them. 

Patti nodded. Kingsley would be attending the third session of Delores Umbridge's trial tomorrow. They talked about her extensively whenever theycould because Madam Umbridge starred as one of the much abused subjects in one of Patti's soapboxes. Until very recently with the Muggle-born Registration Committee, Kingsley had neither really liked nor disliked Madam Umbridge. 

"That woman better burn in hell," said Patti. Kingsley shrugged. "Kingsley, I am Muggle-born. If we were like this last year..."  
"...but we're not," Kingsley cut across her. "We are fine." 

"If we were here last year," she continued, refusing to be daunted by fear, speaking a little louder. Kingsley considered her politely. He pointed out that this time last year, just last year, she'd been caught between the UK and the States, so technically, she wouldn't have been in any real danger. "You don't think You-Know-Who wouldn't have lengthened his control? I would've been alone in a New York hospital giving birth to a baby whose father could have died." 

Draco, feeling severely uncomfortable, excused himself when Patti spilled big tears over an imagined scenario. Kingsley shook his head. He was going to dissect this scenario, taking it apart piece by piece. 

"First off, there would be no baby because we wouldn't have been together. And secondly, I was on the run from Snatchers when I said Voldemort's name, if you had been here, I would've taken you with me, and you'd have every reason to fret over this baby. If there was a baby." Kingsley got up and kissed her, shutting her up before she had a chance to interrupt him. "Can't you see that's why I insisted you stay in New York? I love you, my American wife." 

"I'm not American," she said. 

"Your dual citizenship begs to differ," he said, silencing her with another kiss. "And had you been pregnant, and this was last year, I would've damn well have found a way to be there whilst you were running the president's campaign. Because I love you." 

"Because you love me," she said, kissing him back. Kingsley didn't say this too often, but when he said it, he meant it. "Even if I gave birth to your American daughter and trapped you in New York?" 

"You know I'm kidding whenever I say that, don't you?" Kingsley helped himself to a few bites of her scrambled eggs. If Rachelle had been born on American soil, she, like her mother, would've been an American citizen. He, Kingsley, would not have enjoyed the same rights. 

She nodded. "Of course." 

Kingsley sat back down and shamefully admitted that he'd surrendered all of his gold to her American sidekick. Later that afternoon, they got discharged from the hospital. Patti, who hadn't received her clothes because she wasn't pounding pavement in the last stretch with acceptance speeches, pulled on a simple blue dress. She seemed self-conscious about her look, especially the bulge, even though Kingsley reminded her she'd just given birth earlier. 

They signed the birth certificate. Patti insisted on walking out because the press and their cameras waited for them outside. Kingsley made quick arrangements and soon there was a driver waiting for them outside. A matron helped Patti with her hair, though she chose to go natural and not use makeup. Around three o'clock, handing her their wrapped bundle, Kingsley placed a hand on the small of her back and they walked outside. 

Smiling, shaking like a leaf in the wind against him, Patti waved with Kingsley at her side, a smile plastered on her face as she held their sleeping daughter. Kingsley waved, too, not really sure if he pulled off the relaxed father look. They were the people's people. 

As they approached the car, he opened the far side passenger door for Patti. Someone in the crowd shouted something Kingsley didn't hear. A second later, a surge of heat from a hot poker shot up his spine. Patti screamed, shielding a crying Rachelle as cries sounded in the gathered crowd. In one fluid movement, doubled over in pain, Kingsley took out his wand and aimed it at a fellow's retreating back as he ran down the pavement. He missed the first time. The second time, Kingsley cast a non-verbal spell and hit his mark. Kingsley faltered, swaying as he fell into the car, barely closing the passenger door as they sped through London.

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm not a political person. I thought it was nice that Kingsley was a black Minister, and that he might actually have a sane, calm demeanor to run the office. I forget who said this, but I've often heard power is best given to those who don't take it. Ever since the Weasley twin pointed this out, I thought Kingsley could potentially be one of those men.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this. It kind of follows a piece of mine, _,"Ricochet"_ , but not really. Patti Strauss is my Judy Smith, fixer to President George HW Bush.


End file.
